Hidden Treasure
by Minako Kurosu
Summary: A collection of hidden moments and experiences you may or may not have wanted to see. Romance, revealed pasts, unspoken dreams...just remember who the story truly belongs to and enjoy  .
1. Tender Faith and Gratitude

**Eeeeeh okay so this is my VERY FIRST fic on this site (I'm new. Hi! :3) so be easy on me. PLEASE please please please review. I LOVE you!**

He was supposed to be something more than this by now.

Had it really only been a few hours? Was it possible for such a minimal stretch of time to drag itself so inexorably onward at its own suffocating, wretched pace to the point that had had forgotten what yesterday even felt like?

_Fool. Even when you cast off your old skin and rid yourself of the pretentious, avid drain of rules and the potential they steal from you, time still remains as the one guard forbidding you to cross the line into the hold of seraphic capabilities. _

But still…

_I'm drowning. No, the man I was has already died. He was crushed beneath the ocean of his inner insanity; he gave in against the demons he had run from for so long. I remain…I should be more. This feeling, this thoughtlessness, this…_

The whine of static cut across his ears, bleeding through all pretenses of speculation as it verberated against his fragile ear drums and grated against his throbbing mind. Through the buzzing, he heard a mumbling. It was soft, tormented, and hopeless; the sound of a man hissing and groaning through his teeth because he had been reduced to a mere mass of flesh, driven on to live only because he had even forgotten how to lie down and die.

_This __noise._

The static and the mumbling persisted, growing louder until it was impossible to ignore. What was living? What was dying? What was this barren, devitalized existence that strained so desperately between the two?

Make it stop…

He fell to his knees, hunching over and trying to cover his ears, trying to hide from the sound of his soul as the madness leeched away at his essence, not only erasing everything he had been, but eroding any future possibilities of the man he would become.

"What's this noise I'm hearing?" he whispered. "And how do I make it go away?"

The room. It was red, a dull, dark flat red that reminded him of blood. It was empty, like his heart…save for a radio on a simple table.

_She_ was standing behind him. He didn't look, but he knew she was there even before her voice rang out over the noise, over the mumbling. This woman. He couldn't define her, but she was the only being that stood out in the emptiness. He had no choice but to listen to her, no choice but to follow every word she said. It wasn't a rule; it was his nature. He had nothing left to him but her words.

"It's completely broken," the calm, imperious voice was an alien in the tiny, fragile body she had stolen. "You won't be able to repair it."

The radio. The source of the noise. But that couldn't be…

"I have to. It hurts my ears." He could barely stand up; he was hunched over, the noise beating down on his back like a ten-ton rock.

"You could destroy it. Then the noise would stop."

Was that even possible? He felt like something else would be lost if the noise went away…

"Destroy it?" He was doubtful. Had she really said that?

"That's right. I said destroy." The viper reared its head as she stood in her full form behind him. One eye glowed red, brighter than the room. A star shining through the blackness.

Such radiance…such brilliance…

_Brilliant._

Of _course_ it was a good idea. There were no rules, there was no cost.

"Destroy it!" he repeated happily.

But how?

He could feel his body moving, reacting to this newest theory. Rubble and dust and light flashed before his eyes, but he was unhindered. Nothing could stop him, but the noise was not so sturdy in its rule-confined existence. Such cacophany and confusion could only be wrought from the distant realms of sanity and its vain attempts to keep a hold on the world.

A new voice choked through the static, even louder than the mumbling in its clear, annoying tone.

"Professor Stein! Listen to me! You _have_ to wake up! We need you now! _Please_, Professor, come back!"

A name? Yes; that name had once been his.

The woman. She had silenced it for a while. It no longer called to him, no longer tried to pierce through his new skin. But this other noise, it still persisted. He had to stop it…he had to destroy it.

A touch. A gentle thump against his chest, calming and persistent in its silence.

"I finally reached you."

That voice…so familiar…

"Healing wavelength!"

Light. Blinding, beautiful light.

His name was being called. It was _still_ his name. He answered, wanting to know who still knew him…who it was that hadn't forgotten him.

"Whoever you are…please do something. Please stop this noise inside my head…I can't do it."

Destroying it was not an option. All he could do was try to hide from it…try to keep his feeble grasp on who he really was, the part of him he could never really let go of.

The human part.

"Is destroying it the only way? She said it couldn't be fixed. What choice do I have? It _has_ to stop."

The woman was always right…wasn't she?

"There's no need to fix it, or destroy it either."

Light filled the room, illuminating the red walls, taking away the taint of blood.

"Just accept it as part of you."

An angel's voice, and everything was silent.

_It finally stopped._

"Now try. Try very hard to picture it. The place you're supposed to be. I know you can do it."

To take the hand of an angel is to accept final and true salvation. Could he ever forget those eyes, one glowing gold that he had never seen before? Could he ever repay that smile? Could he actually make amends to the heart that had refused to leave him alone when he tried to run away from the world?

_I know you can do it._

Marie.

"Stein?"

Franken Stein blinked. Had she known he was thinking about her? No, of course not. He was being ridiculous. But still…that golden brown eye that now regarded him with concern mixed with a warm sense of contentment and companionship…was there anything about him now that it couldn't see?

That woman. Medusa. She had been inside his soul too. But she hadn't really known him. In her much crueler golden eyes, he was nothing more than a tool to be used or a new toy to play with. Marie, his weapon partner and recent rescuer, obviously saw him as something different.

What am I to you?

"Are you alright?" Marie asked gently, walking around the hospital bed to where he had momentarily frozen, lost in a world of madness-masked memories and nightmares.

"Hm?" She placed a hand on his arm, but he didn't withdraw. Her touch was one he could stand. It had saved him, after all; it was natural, not an invasion on his personal space. "Oh yes," he said. "I'm fine. I was just thinking."

Marie laughed and stepped away to check on Crona, their fragile-looking patient who had already begun to make a miraculous recovery towards consciousness after his near-fatal run-in with Medusa.

"Professor Stein," Marie mused. "When are you _not_ thinking? I think it's unfair you berate me for my 'obsessive tendancies' now, don't you?"

The jibe slid harmlessly away, but he allowed a quiet smile for it as he watched her work over Crona. She was a natural nurse, a healer. Her healing wavelength was a gift she had never before considered using in such a way. Now, she was already at home in the infirmary. She could be the new medical doctor; he could finally go back to dissecting…

_You're off-topic, Stein,_ he reproached himself firmly.

"Marie," he said, taking a step towards her. "Why did you come back for me?"

She turned, a delicate frown voicing her feelings on the question. "What kind of question is that? I'm a Death Scythe, and you are my assigned partner. I wasn't about to leave you behind…especially in the clutches of _that woman_…" She shuddered briefly but shook herself, assuming her normal bubbly, nonchalant demeanor. "Besides, after all the time and work I poured into finally refurbishing that dismal shack you like to call a home, I wasn't about to let you run off and leave it. Stitches." She shuddered again, this time making sure it was obvious. "I still need to get rid of those. A woman's touch! That's all that place needed, and it still does! I'm almost _glad_ Lord Death hasn't yet assigned me a new living space; I've barely begun with yours! The bathroom is next! Mark my words, as soon as this kishin business is over and done with, I'll take my deserved sick days, roll up my sleeves, and…"

"Why didn't you give up on me?" He cut her off in mid-rant, and the superficial aidhead slid away from her face like sand as she tilted her head and fixed him with an unsual smile that he couldn't quite read. "I was lost," he continued. "I didn't think anyone would have been able to find me. How did you know you could? How did you know that the Stein you knew wasn't already long gone?"

Marie closed her eye, a picture of peace and happiness. "I had faith in you, Stein," she replied simply. "I always have."

_I know you can do it._

He closed his eyes as well, confused. "But why?" he demanded.

When he opened them again, she was inches away from his face. Placing one soft hand against the side of his face, she responded earnestly, "I just did. That's what faith is. And I know you, Stein. I knew there was a part of you that would never give up…a part of you that was waiting for m – for _someone_ to come and pull you out of the darkness."

Her touch. He could still remember when she had first called out to him in the ocean of madness, when her hand had first collided softly with his chest, releasing the powerful healing wavelength directly into his soul.

_Such a calming touch._

This was much the same. He half-closed his eyes, grateful for the glint of his round glasses as he drank in this feeling. Her hand slid down his neck, but was instantly joined by her other as she adjusted the collar of his lab coat before taking it off and walking over to lay it over Crona.

"He's cold," she observed. "The loss of blood is still affecting him."

_I know you, Stein._

He watched her from behind, replaying her words in his mind. He realized something, and walked over to her, taking off his glasses and laying them on the table so she could look right into his eyes as he laid a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. Her aura was intense, one of hidden intent. And the contentment that had been following her around since they had gotten back…it was the mask of someone who had finally achieved something they had been waiting to do for a very long time.

"You've been waiting for an opportunity like that for quite a while, haven't you?" he asked her. "The chance to rescue me. You had resolved a long time ago that if I ever got in trouble, you would be the one to get me out of it. Why is that, Marie? I haven't always been your meister, and our partnership right now could very well be temporary as it is."

"It's true," she admitted a little nervously, looking down. "I guess…I guess the reason I waited so long for the chance to finally save you was…" She looked up again, determined. "I wanted you to finally _see_ me. Not just as a weapon that was asigned to your side in the heat of battle, but as your partner, as your…_friend_." A rosey tint caught her cheeks becomingly, and she swiftly looked down again.

He placed a finger under her chin, lifting her enchantingly gold-stained brown eye up to his sight again. "Is that all? You should never have worried about that. You see…" He took a step closer to her until his face was a mere inch from hers. "Not a day went by when I wasn't completely aware of your presence in my life," he said quietly. The words…which ordinarily would have been so foreign to his cold, scientific mind, flowed directly from his heart unhindered in their pure accuracy. He was remembering all the times she had been there for him when he had thought no one could reach him. Her face, voice, and actions all stood out clearly to him in the mist of impending madness. She had been the reason he had held out as long as he did. No matter how alone he had felt in his lab, no matter how empty his heart had felt, he grimly clung to the approaching moment when she would open the door, letting all kinds of light in, and rush to his side to care for him and support him. She had given him…tangency.

She drew in a soft, quick breath, and he could almost hear her heart rate increasing. His was already singing in increased tempo, reminding him how gloriously human she had made him. He could _feel_. So many years had he wandered through, labeling himself as a machine programmed only to observe, compute, and dissect. He had once told the snake-witch Medusa that he was like her; that neither of them could comprehend any emotion, especially love. But Marie had woken him up to the truth.

_I am human. My soul…it's there for more than just the characterization of my own unique abilities and desires. I __**feel…**_

When had she first reminded him that he actually had a heart? In his dreams. The illusions projected by his insanity. He had seen her die, and his heart had broken. He had felt so lost and alone…

Then his relief at seeing her alive…

_I can't ever lose her again._

With his free hand, he reached out and ran his fingers through her golden hair until he found her slender neck. Pulling her toward him as gently as possible, he added, "How could I not have seen you? You were the one who gave my life meaning when I had given up on myself."

Then he leaned in and kissed her. She responded immediately, lips leaping to life beneath his careful touch. She wasn't impulsive or violently passionate as he would once have diagnosed her to be, given her obsessive tendancies and desperate act. Her hands glided up his chest until they rested against his face, drawing him even closer as she gently shifted the angle of hers, pouring all of her pent-up care and desire into one heavenly kiss. Everything she had always felt for him, every wish and tear she had spent on him…they were all there. It was love; he had been a blind, selfish fool all these years, too busy casting his own personal woes and feeling sorry for himself to realize the angel that had never truly left his side through the night. It was love. She loved him, and something in his chest exploded. Her touch was yet again the key to unlocking a part of him he had never seen, and then he knew: he loved her too.

He circled his free hand around her waist, pulling her against him and allowing no space to come between them as he kissed her more purposefully. She sensed the change in his mood, and her arms tightened around his neck. Their cautious tenderness had morphed to ectsasy, the pure and undiluted joy of two souls connected by destiny and discovering their entwined purpose in a single moment.

_Marie. You've read my very soul, you've seen the deepest and darkest contours of my mind. If you can truly read what I'm thinking, you should know how much I love you…how much I've always loved you and never realized it._

He felt her lips part slightly as she smiled, a wetness against his cheek as she cried, happily this time, and once again her voice rang through his mind.

_I know you, Stein._

This feeling in his chest…a burning fire…

Oh. He needed to breathe.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart, breathless and starry-eyed.

Once again, she laid her palm against his chest, a gesture that had been his anchor in the tempest, the lighthouse that drew him home. His heart raced under her touch, reminding him of many things that had only just been discovered, but above them all sang the one most true and important:

_I am human._

"Um…"

The moment shattered as the two turned towards the bed. Crona was sitting up, his normally pale face beet red, confirming that he had been conscious for the past few minutes or so.

"I…I…uh…" stuttered the nervous boy, crossing his scrawny arms and looking from one of them to the other.

"Ahh, screw you guys!" A whiney voice interrupted, obliterating any evidence of the moment that had been left behind after Crona's wakefulness. A small, black, doll-like creature sprang out of Crona's back and brandished its tacky white fist at the couple.

"Go get a room! You two are perfect for each other; both of you needed to get laid a long time ago!"

"Ragnorak!" Crona reproached him in horror, but Marie cut him off by laughing and rushing to the boy's side, ignoring the blush warming her features as she hugged him.

Listening to her hurried attempts at covering the situation up, Frank Stein could only smile and wonder at the beauty and meaning that had been added to his life…or rather, the one that had been there all along.


	2. Many Swords, One Heart

**So I felt the need to put in something for Mifune ^.~ I got pretty attached to the stern-faced samurai in the anime, and he's actually one of the reasons I prefer it over the manga (yatta! He doesn't die in the anime :3 ). I always wished they would add him in at the end and show a little more about him, but now I have more to work with. Hope you enjoy! Pleaseee review! I love you :D Oh and disclaimer: I own NONE of this magnificent manga/anime; all praise and benefits go to the brilliant Atsushi Okubo **** now, on with the story!**

The class bell sang through the afternoon air in a rich, promising tone, and the occupants of the sun-soaked classroom began to stir from their stupor. For such young children, they had remained remarkably still throughout the entirety of the lesson, especially considering they had a new teacher. Then again, the stoic-faced, slender human that leaned with catlike grace against his unnaturally large sheath full of swords cut a rather formidable figure to the youngsters.

When he had first entered, chewing on a stiff, straw-like blade of grass and taking in every single child with his piercing, slanted brown eyes, a timid and awe-filled hush had immediately settled as every student turned to stare at the newcomer. Each pair of large, gawking eyes had almost immediately spotted the word OSAMURAI that so boldly and proudly stated its presence in his otherwise nondescript white sweatshirt, for whispers were set off like wild fire around the room. A great samurai. This human was no weapon or meister, but a being of such natural strength and ability that he could be a match for any well-trained pair. Every child had heard tales of such a man; none had ever anticipated meeting one, much less being taught by one. Questions and theories were undoubtedly being passed around: Was he mean? Probably. Looked like he never smiled at anyone. Would he eat them? Or perhaps throw a few swords at them if they didn't behave? He certainly had enough swords in that sheath he dragged around. Why was he here? Hadn't he been an opponent once?

Now, however, at the end of his first in-class teaching experience, the samurai was immersed in a much more comfortable and relaxed atmosphere than he had triggered when he first stepped in. The children were silent, not out of foreboding and mistrust, but out of pure fascination and awe. He had spoken in a calm, normal voice that he never raised even once, and the lesson had been an interesting and educational one, albeit one they had never really put thought to before. As the bell rang, he even graced them with a less stern look that could almost be described as a smile before speaking around the grass stem held between his teeth with practiced expertise.

"Class dismissed. It was good to meet you all; I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Don't forget your homework."

As the youngest grade level in the DWMA filed out obediently, conversing in muted, excited tones about the awesome lesson and super cool new teacher, they each paused in turn to say goodbye to him. He responded to each, and knew the names of every student that passed him; an impressive feat for the first day, but not uncommon if an onlooker was aware of his soft spot for kids.

One of the last in the exiting mass, a small and timid looking young boy, barely stopped to mutter his farewell before shuffling on, eyes downcast. He froze as a strong, lean hand caught him gently by the shoulder and the great samurai knelt to look him unwaveringly in the eyes.

"Kid," the man said in the same controlled tone with an underlying rough edge that had capture his students in a tale of warrior and demon paths during the first five minutes of class. "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not strong enough."

"Huh?" The boy lifted his head, wondering if this samurai was not only physically strong, but psychic as well.

"I know your type," the man continued. "You think that because you're weak physically, the strength of your will couldn't possibly match up to any decent standards either. Well you're wrong. Take it from me: you're as strong as you're willing to push yourself to be. Only you decide the limits on your abilities and dreams, because no one but you can choose which path you will follow. Here." He pressed something round and hard into the kid's palm, and it crinkled as he drew his hand away. Candy. The boy smiled, feeling a shy blush warm his cheeks as someone bolstered his self-confidence for the first time in his young life. He turned to thank the samurai, but once the man had finished his uncharacteristically long-winded speech, he had left the room as silently as he had appeared at the kid's side. Still, the silent strength of his presence remained, encouraging the youngster to square his rounded shoulders and enter the outside world with a new spirit. As he skipped out, he unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth, blinking against the dampness in his eyes that the unexpected salt flavor had caused.

The great samurai allowed himself a quiet smile as he watched the boy head for the school exit. His long hair, as unextraordinary in its dull, sand-colored tone as the rest of his appearance was, slipped from behind his ears and masked his slanted eyes as he leaned forward in thought, chewing slowly on the ever-present blade of grass that stuck stiffly out of the left corner of his thin, wry mouth. He was reliving the faces of his new students as they were when he had first entered their domain. Curiosity, disbelief, a tinge of nervous anticipation…it was true, he didn't really look like a conventional teacher. He was far from professional dress; his sweatshirt, sandals, and jeans cut off just above the ankle were more the garb of some wandering hippy than a professor at Death Weapon Meister Academy. Actually, a few weeks ago, he would never have even dreamed he would end up in such a position. His smile widened at the memory of the children's faces and wide eyes. Lord Death had even granted him the privilege of teaching the youngest class…

"You know, I don't get you."

He shifted the grass stem in his mouth, turning to look at the meister he already knew he would see. Sure enough, the boy leaning against the wall with his muscular arms supporting his head of wild, electric blue hair was grinning at him with a mischievous face and teal eyes.

"Mifune," Black Star continued, his rough voice tinged with the tenor of youth and the nonchalance of an overly confident ego. "You're supposed to be this big strong swordsman; I just don't get why you get all soft and mushy over things as annoying and small as children."

Mifune closed his eyes and smiled again. "You want to know why?" he asked his former opponent.

"Sure. If it's not a long story. I can't stand long stories; someone as big as I am doesn't have the time to waste on an old man's tale."

"It's just an explanation, not a story." But there _was_ a story behind it.

"Alright then. Let's hear it."

Mifune glanced up at the hot-blooded young meister, the only being known to have defeated him. He often forgot not to underestimate the boy; beneath the mask of childish dreams and enormous ego, he was a warrior of intense will and power. The reedy voice demanding that the world know he would overthrow the gods wasn't exactly something people would think impressive; just annoying. But still…the kid had amazing potential. Even so, he needed to build up his store of pateince. Even now, Mifune could see him straining against the pause he had allowed before giving the answer he had so curiously pried for.

"I was a child once, too." With that, Mifune pulled away from the wall, hefted his sheath over his shoulder, and started to walk out.

"Whaaaat?" Black Star's loud voice, even higher pitched with disblief and frustration, reached Mifune only seconds before he did. He blocked the samurai's way. "Please! That sentimental crap is all you're gonna feed me? A big guy like me can't take such a puny attempt at an explanation."

"You said you didn't want a long story," was all Mifune replied as he vaulted easily over Black Star's shoulder and continued on his way. Behind him, he was aware of Tsubaki, the sweet-hearted enchanted weapon, stopping her meister from following him. He took a moment to spare her some gratitude before continuing on his way out. He paused for a moment to look at the colossal clock outside the door. Perfect. He had time to look around Death City before Angela got out of her private lessons.

Mifune sauntered casually down the long flight of steps leading away from the academy with another private smile. Angela was doing well in her lessons; he had been assured that it would soon be moderately safe to integrate her with the other students. Her life was going to be an interesting one, but he would be there for her every step of the way.

A rainstorm had swept over the city only an hour before; the sun-bathed cobbled streets glistened with an almost ethereal beauty, but Mifune had long since tuned his senses to pick out the more unpleasant and covert elements of life. Near a clump of bushes, he spotted a dead bird. It was a fledgling; its delicate, undeveloped feathers were marred by a layer of sodden sediments, and its fragile body was stiff and twisted in the rigor of death. Gently, Mifune picked it up and moved it deep within the shadow of the leaves. Best not to let the unsuspecting, laughter-filled eyes of the children darken at such an unfair sight.

_This world is cruelest to the innocent; the weak don't stand a chance._

This familiar snippet of thought wandered through the samurai's mind as he walked away from the makeshift crypt. It was an epiphany that had first given him purpose many years ago. He had been a child himself then.

_Wham!_

Laughter coursed through his ears in erratic waves as he hit the ground hard enough to jar his vision. Laughter was followed only too closely by pain, and his bit his lip against the tears such a humiliating, unstoppable feeling provoked.

Through burning, blurry eyes, he could see his antagonists. They were all the well-dressed, nose-in-the-air, rich-and-thus-ignorant types. Not a doubt about it; these were students from that academy. Beings with specialized physical and mental capabilities, powerful children with not a clue as how to use their unique gifts, so they were deciding to use him as a target. It only went further to prove how foolish they were; the young, pale boy's lip curled slightly in a bitter smile. He was a normal human, a weakling in comparison to their standards. Beating him up wouldn't get them an inch of true training or practice. But of course, this was the type that was also completely impossible to reason with.

_Why do I have to be so weak? I'm the smart one, not them. They're all so stupid…it isn't fair!_

A silent protest raced through his throbbing head as one of the bigger boys pulled back his arm to strike him in the stomach again.

"Runt!" he jeered. "Look at you! You're not giving us any fun. Aren't you at least going to fight back?"

His blood boiled as he forced himself to stare at the ground so they wouldn't see the yearning to attempt to defend himself screaming in his eyes. What good would it do? If he fought back, he stood an even greater chance of being seriously hurt, or worse, further humiliated. His average human attempts at a street brawl, he had learned from experience, would do him no good here. The sooner he gave in and accepted their blows, the sooner they would leave.

"It's no use," came another sneering voice. "He's just a human, after all. Sure, we aren't supposed to eat their souls…but weaklings like this can at least thank us for protecting them by providing us with some hands-on training! And this one _will _fight back. You just have to know what to say." A malevolant snicker heralded the approach of a smaller, skinnier boy with wild hair sticking up from a leering face. Frightened by the closeness of is presence, the human boy chanced a glance up to see what new pain was waiting for him.

The newcomer wasn't pulling back for a punch or lifting his leg for a kick; he was squatting so he was eye-level with his victim. His eyes were cold and almost manic at the idea of inflicting discomfort on another being; the boy on the ground felt a panicked idea cross his mind that this look was different from that of the others. Worse. Much worse.

"Well maybe not," the newest tormentor continued. "Maybe he _will_ just sit there and take a beating like any boring weakling would do. After all…" His voice dropped so he was speaking more to his target. "His parents were ruthelessly murdered by a witch. I heard it was over so quickly they didn't even have time to scream; guess this one's just as pathetic."

All he saw was red.

At first, it was the red of hot-blooded, mindless fury as he sprang towards the grinning weapon with no other thought save the desire to tear him apart, but then that red was quickly drowned out by a more dull, overpowering crimson of pain and blood as the entire gang descended on him, hooting and yelling at the opportunity to fight an actual opponent. He was left behind in minutes, huddled against the wall of a building and feeling utterly lost and miserable.

The tears came then. Tears of loneliness, self-hatred, and frustration. He let them flow without shame, only praying silently that he would just disappear. He was useless, after all. A human. What purpose did average humans have in this world save to exist and be protected by the supernatural beings that were so carefully groomed in the great building that overlooked Death City? He wasn't even an _average_ human. He was an orphan, a youngling, easy prey to the heartless and a burden to any who pitied him. Maybe death was preferable without a purpose or a value to his worthless soul…

"Mifune."

Startled by the use of his name, he looked up just in time to see a stern-faced, middle aged man sit down against the wall beside him. Strong grey eyes looked him over from the top of his tousled, sand-colored head to the bottoms of his grimy, bloodied bare feet. He saw not a speck of judgment or preconception pass through those noble eyes, nor any flicker of concern or sympathy. The man was still measuring and weighing him; he had yet to be delivered a result.

"Give me your hand," the stranger ordered, and Mifune obediently held out his hand in wonder, pondering what this great man could possibly want with it. To his surprised, his rescuer took it and pressed something hard and round into his palm before letting him go. He pulled back, looking at the object in his fingers. A candy…

Confused but grateful, he unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, savoring the sweetness against the salty, metallic tang of blood that had been swimming around his pallat. The stranger noted his reaction and nodded, as if confirming something in his own mind.

"I knew it. Too beaten down and desperate to even consider mistrusting sweets given from the hand of an utter stranger. Truly, it is a shame to find a child like you in a state such as this." Ashamed, Mifune hung his head. The man had just spoken a sentiment that passed through his mind every morning when he woke up. "However," continued the stranger. "The lower your beginnings are, the more triumphant your final victories will be. Tell me, boy, are you tired of living in the streets?"

Mifune cringed against the pricking of his pride, but reluctantly nodded.

"I…I accept charity from no one," he stated weakly. "I can take care of myself…"

"Lying is more shameful than letting someone help you," the man said sharply. "Answer me honestly; you'll find I don't have many questions to ask you, only instructions to give you."

Stung, Mifune jerked his chin up, meeting the eyes of the man, who almost smiled.

"That's better. I see your pride, and your strength. I take that as a yes. Now, are you ready to refine your strength?"

Mifune looked away. This had to be a mistake. "Forgive me," he said stiffly. "You have the wrong kid. I have no strength to refine."

He felt the man's aura grow more tense, and prepared himself to leap away from a blow to the cheek that never came. However, there was more fire in those cool eyes than before.

"To lie is shameful, but to call someone else a liar is the act of a criminal. I know what I see in you, boy, and I know what I have heard about you. From now on, your low self-esteem will have no say in your future. I'm offering you the chance to train under me, to become a warrior just as powerful as those youngsters who beat you are destined to become." His eyes twinkled as he ruffled Mifune's hair. "You may even become stronger. Don't give me that look; humans can be strong too. I am of the samurai; we serve and devote our swords to those who need protection or require a dangerous duty to be performed. We undertake what most cannot, yet we are normal as they are. It is what lies in our hearts that gives us the ability to go beyond what is expected of our kind. We are so strong that even our own egos cannot hold us back; that is why I come to you. The man I swore my sword to is pleased with my service, and wishes there to be more like me. You are my prospect, so because I don't like to mince words or give speeches, I'll give you a choice: rot in the streets, or be the man you know you are meant to be."

No more words were needed. Pain was forgotten as the pair stood. Mifune looked up at his new master. He had never really believed in fate or destiny, but the chance to become something more was one he would never pass up. Savoring the sweet taste of the candy on his tongue, he left the streets he had wandered for so long, never to return the same again.

Yes, the next time those cobbled stones felt Mifune's feet cross them again, several years had passed, and he was the one who was standing. The same gang that had once caused him so much trouble groveled against the wall, cowering away from the one they had thought to be a mere, helpless human. Cool, brown eyes glared down at them piercingly as a thin, corded arm wielding a simple katana was raised above their heads in a calculating, decisive manner.

"Only those who are truly pathetic seek to bring helplessness on those they consider to be lesser beings," Mifune stated. "Such fools. You will never harm another defenseless child again."

Cries of terror were torn from the students' throats as the blade swept down…but it passed harmlessly over their heads and cut a stalk of grass neatly in two. Mifune caught the blade of grass before it fell, sticking it in his mouth and holding his sword in a downward defense position, keeping them apart from the two boys that would have been their next victims.

"You once called me weak," he said to the spikey-haired weapon that groveled before him. "Soon, you will see these two prove you to be the fool just as I have. Take your worthless lives and go."

They scrambled to make themselves scarce, and Mifune turned to the two children, who stared up at him with awe.

"Samurai," one of them whispered. Mifune dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out two candies, tossing them to the urchins.

"Only you can choose your path," he said. "Don't let anyone else navigate for you."

With that, he walked away. His master was waiting for him at the end of the street.

"You're growing up," he commented. "Soon, you will be able to swear your sword to a person of your choice. We may be servants, but we choose who we serve. Freedom is ours."

Mifune spoke without hesitation; he had made his decision the minute this man had picked him off the streets.

"I will be a guardian, not a servant," the teenager said determinedly. "And I will not only have one sword to swear to the protection of one person, but many. This world is cruel to the innocent, and jeers at the weak, bringing them down so they don't stand a chance. My swords, they will be sworn to the protection and well-being of the innocent and weak-hearted. That is my way."

With that, he had taken his leave and gone off to walk his own path. He became _osamurai_, the Great Samurai, one unrivaled among all humans and many meisters, witches, and weapons.

The world is cruelest to the innocent…

_But I have sworn my swords to defend them._

"Mifune!"

The high-pitched voice of a child interrupted his reminiscence, and he turned. Angela flew towards him at top speed, brownish-red eyes wide and full of her smile, short auburn hair whipping across her childishly chubby cheeks. She squealed as she lost control of her broomstick, but Mifune, all too used to this routine, darted forward and caught her easily.

"Angela," he reprimanded her. "I told you I would come to pick you up. Did you escape from Miss Marie again?"

The slightly obsessive, worrying woman's frantic cries from behind the small witch confirmed his suspicions, and Mifune smiled as he lifted Angela up on his shoulders. She weighed next to nothing, and he was so used to carrying her that it felt to him like she belong there. What would he do when she got too big for him to carry?

_She is mine._

The realization shocked him. For almost two years now, he had strutted himself as the child's bodyguard, as her servant and protector…but now, he felt possessive over _her_.

Is this how a father feels for his daughter?

Warmth spread in the chest of the great samurai, but as usual, he didn't let it show on his face.

"Come on, Angela. Let's go home."

As they walked back towards the Academy, Mifune closed his eyes briefly and allowed that same private smile he had almost grown accustomed to releasing.

_Yes, Black Star. You wouldn't be able to understand my reasoning without hearing a __**very**__ long story. But that story, that path, and this child…they are mine. _

Angela tugged on his hair as she would on the reins of a horse.

"Mifune! Candy?"

It was a gentle inquiry, not the snottish one of a bratty child. He reached into his pocket and tossed a piece up at her. The tongue of her frog hat snapped out and caught it, and she giggled, leaning forward and wrapping her little arms around his neck.

It was the greatest feeling in the world.

**Hmmm...this was kind of an experiment :P don't be afraid to be critical; if you don't like it, let me know and tell me why. But PLEASE review. Thanks and much love 3**


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